


Let Things Come Out Of The Woodwork

by prouvairablehulk



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, dom/sub dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 15:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairablehulk/pseuds/prouvairablehulk
Summary: Oliver Queen spent years becoming Ollie, the playboy prince of Starling. Years dancing around commitment with a woman he never deserved. Years of getting his hands on every kind of alcohol, dancing at every club, sleeping with any girl who fluttered her eyelashes right. There were many things he regretted having done while wearing that persona, and some things he didn't.He's not sure where They fall on that spectrum. He's had almost 10 years to think about it. 10 years in which he's replayed every second of that night over and over again, and he's still not sure whether sleeping with them was the worst decision he ever made or the absolute best.





	Let Things Come Out Of The Woodwork

Oliver Queen spent years becoming Ollie, the playboy prince of Starling. Years dancing around commitment with a woman he never deserved. Years of getting his hands on every kind of alcohol, dancing at every club, sleeping with any girl who fluttered her eyelashes right. There were many things he regretted having done while wearing that persona, and some things he didn't. 

He's not sure where They fall on that spectrum. He's had almost 10 years to think about it. 10 years in which he's replayed every second of that night over and over again, and he's still not sure whether sleeping with them was the worst decision he ever made or the absolute best. 

They are also the reason Oliver is currently breathing so hard he's shaking in the bathroom of the STAR Labs facility that Barry's got them in. 

Look, Oliver knows Leonard Snart and Mick Rory by reputation, and by Barry's long term complaints about heists and flirting. He's never actually seen a photo of them, which is the only excuse he's got for this situation. 

They haven't changed all that much in the last 10 years. Not enough for Oliver to not know exactly who they are as soon as they walk in, alongside the other Legends. The second he made the connection, he'd made a break for it, heading straight for somewhere he could put a locked door between them and try and sort his thoughts out. 

Oliver had met Mick and Len - Mickey and Leo, as they'd introduced themselves then - at a bar in Starling about a month before he'd got on the Gambit with Sara. He'd been at a club with Tommy, and before he'd hit his usual swing of drinking and flirting - before he'd had anything at all to drink, although he'd pretended otherwise for a good six months afterwards - they'd taken the seats on either side of him. Oliver had spent about an hour on he dancefloor with them, and then Len had suggested their Motel room, and Oliver had agreed without a second thought. They were unfairly attractive, pulling at something in Oliver he couldn't describe, and they wouldn't be the first men he'd fucked. Just another threesome to notch into the bedpost of Ollie Queen. 

He'd spent the cab ride to their room making out with Mick while Len took his time getting his hands all over him, and Mick had manhandled him into the room after Len unlocked the door. 

"On your knees, now." Len told him, as soon as the door was locked and the blinds pulled. 

Oliver had scoffed, baulked at the mere idea of it. Ollie Queen didn't go to his knees for anyone. Len had listened to his bravado and then smirked like he knew better and got his hands into Oliver's shirt and pulled him in, holding him flat against him so Oliver was pinned. 

"Mickey?" Len had said. And Mick had stepped forward and undone Oliver's belt, dragged his jeans and boxers down, and smacked his hand across Oliver's ass with a resounding crack. Oliver had flinched hard, mouth falling open on a gasp. 

"Listen now, Oliver." Len purred. "Mickey and I, we look for a very specific type of person. Always cocky, always bratty -" 

Mick spanked him again, and Oliver bucked. 

"Always secretly, quietly, looking for a firm hand." 

Mick spanks him three more times in quick succession and Oliver admits to himself that his "jerks" are far more like grinds against Len's thigh, and that he's getting hard from being spanked. 

"And you tick all those boxes, darling. If you don't want to spend tonight being our good, obedient, little slut, and following all the directions we give you, you can walk out of here right now and we won't stop you." 

Mick hits him again, and Oliver bites back a moan. The overview Len had given sounds like the best thing Oliver's ever heard - as loathe as he would be to ever admit it under any other circumstance - and all he wants to do is crumple at their feet. One night, he tells himself. One night, and they'll be gone, and no one has to be any the wiser. 

"What's it going to be, Ollie? Are you ready to be our good little slut now?" Len asked. 

Oliver nods, shaking with anticipation, and Len smirks again. 

"If it all gets too much, and you want us to slow down, I want you to say yellow, alright? And red means we'll stop straight away."

Oliver nods. 

"Can you repeat that back so we know you understand?" 

Oliver does, hands twitching into fists and then unclenching again. 

"You're going to be so good for us, aren't you?" says Len. 

"Good sluts get on their knees when they're told." Mick rumbles, behind him. "So you've got some ground to make up."

Oliver's knees fold before he has a chance to think about it. Len curls a hand around his face. 

"Good boy." he says, and Oliver leans into his touch a little, the praise settling warm into his stomach. Len's other hand drifts to the button on his jeans, and even the thought that he's about to give his first blowjob can't cut through the hazy pleasure of being told he's good. Mick's dropped to his knees behind him, and is slowly unbuttoning Oliver's shirt, sliding it off his shoulders while sinking his teeth into Oliver's neck. Len shoves his jeans down with one hand, leaving the other to pet the short hair at the back of Oliver's neck. He's not wearing anything under the jeans, and Oliver's not entirely sure why his mouth is watering at the sight of Len's hard dick. 

An hour ago, he hadn't even known he was into this. Now, he's so turned on he can barely breathe. 

"Open up, darling." says Len, and Oliver does, sticking his tongue out and blinking slow while he waits. He's vaguely aware of Mick moving away, taking his shirt and leaving Ollie basically naked save for the jeans and boxers still tangled around his ankles. Len smiles, slow and warm, and slides his dick into Oliver's mouth with a moan. His other hand joins the first on the back of Oliver's head, and holds Oliver still while he thrusts short and shallow. 

"Good boy." Len purrs, and thrusts a little deeper. Oliver moans. Fuck, how had he made it this far through his life without someone forcing him to see that this was what he needed? How had he not known being owned and used was the deepest hidden fantasy he was keeping from himself? 

Len pulls out, and lets go of Oliver's head, backing up until he can sit on the edge of the bed. Mick, who had been comfortably lounging there, one hand curled around his dick, kneels so he can lean over Len's shoulder. 

"Our boy's hard." Mick says, voice rumbling and dark. "He loved that, loved you fucking his mouth, loved you using him."

Oliver shudders, knowing it's the truth. Len moans and rocks back into Mick's embrace, arching his back. Fuck, they're beautiful together. 

"Why don't you come over here?" Mick says, eyes dark and fixed on Oliver, who is still on his knees. "Come here." 

The second is an order, hard and firm, and Oliver is moving instantly, crawling forward to sit at Len's feet. 

"Look at that." says Mick. "He can be a good boy." 

"I told you he was what we were looking for." says Len. "Come on, Kitten, get that mouth of yours back on my dick." 

Oliver lunges forward, hungry both for the taste of Len's dick in his mouth and for the praise he knows will follow. Len cards his fingers through Oliver's hair and pulls him further down his dick. 

"That's it." Len purrs. 

"Can you believe we're the first to see him like this?" asks Mick. His hands are shoved under Len's shirt, when Oliver looks up. "Such a perfect little slut, and it's all for us." 

Len's hands tighten in Oliver's hair, and the combination of words and sensation has Oliver moaning. 

"You ever done this before?" asks Len. "Gone to your knees and had someone fuck your pretty little mouth?" 

Oliver shakes his head no, as much as he can given Len's hands in his hair and Len's dick in his mouth. 

"Then there's no way he's been fucked." says Mick. Oliver shivers all over at the thought of getting fucked by one of them - it's something he'd never have thought he wanted, but right now nothing sounds better. "He's less of a slut than we thought." 

"Look at how needy he is." says Len. "He'll be begging for it as soon as he can talk again. He might be a virgin slut, but he's still a slut." 

Oliver groans again, and tries to grind against Len's shin. Len pulls his hair sharply in response. 

"None of that now. You'll get off when we say you get off." 

A wave of hot need crashes down Oliver's spine at Len's words. 

"He likes that too." says Mick. 

"Shall we let him choose?" says Len. Mick grins. 

"Alright, Kitten, would you rather ride me or have Len ride your ass?" 

Len lets go of Oliver's hair so he can answer. As yet Oliver hasn't said anything that hasn't been repeating Len, so he's not sure what the protocol is. He's definitely sure about his decision, however. 

"Can I have both, sir?" Oliver says, his voice pitching a little higher, nervous, on the honorific. Mick chuckles. 

"What did I tell you? He's absolutely a slut." says Len, to Mick. Then, he turns back to Oliver and grabs his chin, holding his head in place so they're making eye contact. 

"You can have both, Kitten, but I want to hear you to beg for it." 

Oliver swallows hard. 

"Please, sir, can I have both, sir?" 

Len makes a vaguely disinterested noise. 

"What do you want? Beg for it." 

Oh. 

Oliver shudders in Len's grip. That's why Len's holding him here - he wants to see Oliver's reaction to asking for them to be the first people to fuck him. 

"Please, sir," Oliver begs, breath ragged, "please can you both fuck me?" 

Len grins. 

"Sure we can, Kitten. Are we going to be the first people to fuck you, darling?" 

"Yes, sir." says Oliver, ducking his head down as much as he can. Of course Len wanted to hear that confirmed. Len pulls him up to his feet, and then eases him down so he's bent over the edge of the bed, ass up and face planted firmly in Len's lap, right over his dick. 

"Then I suppose we better make it memorable." says Len, and strokes his fingers through Oliver's hair. "Get that slut mouth of yours back on my dick, come on now." 

Oliver does, and then clutches at Len's thighs when Len fucks his hips up a little, driving into Oliver's mouth in a way that Oliver knows will build to Len bouncing his dick off the back of Oliver's throat. He's - looking forward to it, wants to gag around Len's dick while he tries to take it as deep as he can. Hands smooth over his ass - Mick must be behind him now. One lifts off, and comes down with a crack, and Oliver moans around Len's dick. Len groans in response, and fucks up into Oliver's mouth until Oliver's gagging, and holds him there for a moment. 

"He liked that, Mickey. Do it again." says Len, and Oliver turns into a moaning, writhing, mess while Mick spanks him and Len fucks his mouth until his eyes water. 

"Look at that." Mick purrs, about fifteen spanks later, when Oliver's almost shaking he's so turned on. "His cherry ass is cherry red now." 

Len sniggers, obviously appreciating the pun. 

"Did all that moaning feel good?" Mick asks Len, one hand still groping Oliver's ass while the other fumbles with something. 

"Fuck yes it did. Shall we let him talk, for this next part? Make sure we can hear every sound out of our little slut?"

Oliver moans, feeling his face flushing. He hadn't thought the name-calling would affect him as much as it is, and right now he's hoping they steer clear of calling him a whore (their whore, in particular) or he might just come on the spot. 

"I think we should." says Mick. "I want to hear him beg for more as soon as he figures out he likes it." 

Mick's fingers, slick, are circling Oliver's rim. Len pulls him off his dick and settles Oliver down so his head is pillowed on Len's thigh. And Mick pushes the first finger in. It's a little uncomfortable at first, and then Len pats the side of Oliver's face and tells him to relax, and when he does it feels - 

Oliver shudders, and Mick slides in a second. 

"Oh, fuck!" Oliver gasps, and his hands fist in the sheets. 

"There we go." says Mick, and he carefully scissors his fingers apart. 

"Oh, oh, oh fuck." Oliver gasps. It feels so good, it's like all the breath he has is caught in his throat. 

"Do you want another?" Mick asks, after a few minutes of Oliver swearing every time he spreads his fingers. 

"Yes, sir, yes please give me another." 

The third finger feels great, and so does the feeling of submitting, of begging for things and knowing that he doesn't have to be in charge any more. Mick turns his hand slowly on the next press in and hits something that must be his prostate based on how insanely good it feels. Oliver whines into Len's thigh. 

"Are you ready for his dick?" asks Len. "Tell us, Kitten." 

"Please fuck me, sir, I'm ready." Oliver gasps, and Mick slides his fingers out and spanks Oliver with his dry hand. Oliver whines at the loss, and Len strokes his fingers through Oliver's hair one more time. 

"Alright, Kitten," says Len, "you're going to go sit in Mick's lap, and you're going to ride his dick." 

Oliver groans, and stands on slightly shaking legs to straddle Mick's lap. Mick helps him to sit on his dick, something Oliver has to do slowly because it's thick as fuck and by the time Oliver is sitting on Mick's thighs with that dick in him he's red-faced and panting. 

"How do you feel?" asks Mick. 

"So - oh fuck - so full, sir." gasps Oliver. "It feels so good." 

Mick grins, all teeth, and uses the grip he has on Oliver's waist to start lifting him up and down. On about the third stroke down Mick's cock smacks against Oliver's prostate, and he lets out a strangled scream. 

"Now wasn't that a pretty noise." says Len. "Make him make it again." 

Mick slams Oliver back down and nails his prostate, and Oliver does. 

"What's making you sound like that?" asks Len. 

"Pros - fuck, sir more, please - prostAH!" Oliver manages to get out. Len beams. 

"Shall I get him screaming?" asks Mick. 

"Please, sir." Oliver begs, before Len can reply. 

"Give the slut what he wants." says Len. "Give him a good fucking. Make him scream." 

Mick shifts his grip on Oliver, wraps Oliver's legs around his waist, and then stands. The movement lodges Mick's cock up against Oliver's prostate and Oliver groans, because it will only get - 

Mick slides Oliver's legs up to over his shoulders, and starts pounding into him. Oliver stops trying to hold back and screams in pleasure. 

"Perfect little slut." says Len, voice a little distant. 

"Are we sure that's the right descriptor?" Mick grunts. Oliver's still letting out broken hitching gasps every time Mick's hips slam into his own. 

"He is ours, and ours alone, to have like this." Len muses. Oliver thinks he's crying it's so good. 

"Please, sir, can I come?" he begs, nails digging in to Mick's biceps. 

"Try again and be more specific about the circumstance." says Len. Oliver heats up more off the iron in his tone. 

"Please, sir, can I come on your cock?" Oliver tries. 

"You can come if you come just like this." Mick says, and Oliver keens. "Not a hand on you, no friction, just from having my dick in you for the first time." 

"And you'll come when I tell you too." says Len. 

"Yes, sir, anything, sir." Oliver promises. 

"Alright, I'll count down to when you can come." says Len. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Come." 

Oliver screams, and comes so hard his vision whites out for a second. When it comes back, Oliver looks at Mick, who's still hard in his ass, and wonders what's going to happen next. 

What happens is that Mick lifts him off his cock and tosses him onto the bed, stripping off the condom he's been wearing. 

"Lenny's turn to fuck you now." says Mick. "And I'm going to fuck your mouth while he does." 

Oliver might have only just come, but his dick twitches at the order. 

"Hands and knees, slut." says Len, and Oliver goes, rolling over and bracing himself. Mick grabs his head and pulls him straight down, dragging Oliver's head up and down to his preference. Len's dick is thinner but longer than Mick's, and the position means it presses against Oliver's prostate almost instantly. 

"Here's the thing." says Len as he starts fucking Oliver with long hard strokes. "You're here to give over control to us. To hand yourself over to our use. I think Mick was right about us using the wrong term for you. I think you're not just a slut. I think you're a whore." 

Oliver moans, and Mick grunts in return and pulls Oliver down until he's choking and holds him there for a few seconds before dragging Oliver off his cock entirely and wrapping a hand around himself. Oliver whines while Len fucks him, and Mick groans. 

"Tell us you're a slut." says Mick. 

"I'm a slut, sir." Oliver gasps, and Len fucks into him faster. 

"Beg me to come on your face." says Mick, and Oliver moans at the thought. 

"Please, sir, come on my face and mark me as yours." Oliver begs. Mick's hand speeds up, and he does just that with a drawn out groan. Oliver can feel himself hardening again - if Len keeps going like this while Mick's come is dripping off his face, Oliver's going to be ready to come again in no time. 

"Say you'll do anything for us." says Mick, his eyes on Len. 

"Anything, sir, anything." 

"Say you'll never let anyone else touch you like this." 

"Never, sir, nobody but you." Oliver promises. Len's hand is suddenly on the back of Oliver's neck, shoving him down until he's lying flat on his stomach. Len seems to move a little, and then he starts fucking Oliver again, harder and faster and deeper, and Oliver screams again. 

"Say you're ours." says Len. 

"Yours, I'm yours." sobs Oliver. Len grinds into him, a relentless pressure on his prostate, and Oliver's scream is hoarser this time. 

"Say it louder." Len hisses, and Oliver does. 

"Louder!" Len demands. 

"I belong to you!" Oliver yells, and then he can feel Len's hips twitching as he comes. Oliver's so close it will take the tiniest thing to make him come, and he's not sure he's going to get that. 

He's weirdly at peace with the idea. 

Len pulls out, and Mick rolls Oliver over. 

"He's dripping, he's so hot for us." Mick says to Len. Len groans. 

"Get yourself off." says Len, and Oliver wraps a hand around himself. "God, you make such a perfect whore for the two of us, we might just have to tie you up and take you with us." 

Oliver's barely moved his hand and he comes all over himself. 

Mick gathers him up into a hug and Len gets a cloth and cleans them all up, and Oliver leaves the next morning after breakfast feeling the best he's ever felt. 

And then he got on the fucking Queen's Gambit three weeks later. 

Now, Oliver's legs are shaking where he's leaning against the sink, his jeans popped open while he frantically jerks himself off to the memory of Leonard Snart and Mick Rory utterly dominating him. 

So of course, that's when the door creaks open. 

"So he is still a desperate slut." drawls Len. 

Oliver tips his head back and whines. 

"You lie about a lot of things, Kitten." says Mick. "Did you lie about never letting anyone else touch you like that?"

"No one else." Oliver says. "Never. No one but you. No one -" he grits his teeth and stops his hand. "No one better than you." 

"You're still ours, then." says Mick. "Good." 

Mick tugs Oliver away from the sink, gathering Oliver's wrists up into one hand and letting Oliver rest against his muscular chest. 

"What were you thinking about, Kitten?" asks Len. The pet name still makes Oliver feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

"I was remembering, sir." 

Len grins, and presses his hand against Oliver's dick, before pulling away just a little. 

"Come on, Kitten, get yourself off." Len tells him. He feels Mick's pleased noise more than he hears it. 

"As soon as we deal with these fucking aliens, we'll take you somewhere for a weekend, tie you up and tie you down, use you like you want." Mick says. Oliver shudders and works harder at getting the friction he needs from Len's hand. 

"We'll make good on that promise from before." Mick says. "Tie you up and take you with us, keep you as our very own pretty whore." 

Oliver groans. 

"Please, sir, I need more." 

Len cocks an eyebrow at him. 

"Still such a greedy slut." Len tuts, but he presses forward into Oliver's space and lets Oliver rut against his thigh. 

"I like him between us." says Mick. "We should put him there again, later." 

Len purrs his agreement, and Oliver arches, close to the edge. 

"Such a good whore could take us both, don't you think?" Mick says, voice contemplative. It's suddenly the only thing Oliver can see in his mind's eye, himself gasping and shaking as they both fuck into him, spread gaping wide. 

Oliver bites down on his lip to muffle the sob he makes as he comes, hard enough that he can taste blood in his mouth. He slumps forward out of Mick's grip onto Len's shoulder. 

"Good boy." says Len. "So good, baby, you're so good." 

Len keeps petting at his hair while Mick cleans him up. 

"After this is over," Len says, when Mick's done, "we are going to steal you away." 

Oliver thinks about Chase, about what's waiting in Star City. 

"Yes, please." he says, and then walks out to face the Invasion of Earth. 

Oliver goes for drinks with Barry after it's all over, and then Oliver sits in the bar for a while after Barry goes back to Iris, just people watching. 

"Hello, gorgeous." says someone on his left. When Oliver turns, it's Len, draped over the bar, looking content and smug in skinny jeans and a tight shirt. 

"Can we take you home?" asks someone on his right, and Oliver knows before he turns it will be Mick. 

He turns anyway, and Mick looks fantastic in his henley and worn-soft Levi's. Oliver makes a show of looking them both up and down, and then smirks. 

"I think you can." he says, and lets Len pulls him out of the bar. Mick drives them to a nice two-story townhouse in a nice part of town, and Oliver's pleasantly surprised to find it both beautifully and personally decorated. This has to be their real house. 

"Do you remember the rules about colors?" Mick murmurs, and Oliver nods a yes. 

"We're clean. Are you?" Len says, presses close behind him. 

"Yes." says Oliver, breathless. "Holy shit, please fuck me raw."

Mick pulls him into the bedroom by the buckle on his belt, eyes dark, and Len follows behind. Oliver's feeling pretty great about the whole thing until he hears a lock snib shut on the bedroom door. Len's grinning when Oliver whirls to face him. 

"Alright, then, Green Arrow." Len purrs. "You're not going anywhere." 

It takes a second Oliver to process what they're angling for. 

"I'm not the-" Oliver starts. 

"Yes you are." says Mick. "I'm Heatwave. He's Cold. We figured you right out." 

Fuck, this is going to be hot. 

Oliver makes a half hearted attempt at fighting them off, with telegraphed moves that let them pin him down, Len sitting on his hips and wrangling his wrists into handcuffs while Mick straps his ankles into a spreader bar. 

"What do you want to rob first, darling?" Mick asks, sliding his hands up Len's sides. "We have all of Star City at our fingertips with him all tied up here."

Len makes a contemplative noise and swings himself off Oliver's hips. Mick drags Oliver to his knees and leaves him there, pulling Len in by his belt loops and kissing him hard. 

"Where's the best diamonds?" asks Len. "We should get diamonds." 

He dives back in to kiss Mick. Oliver's aware that he should feel out of place. He doesn't - instead he can feel himself getting more and more worked up. 

"Maybe gold, for Lisa." says Len when they part for air. 

"Are we just gonna leave him?" Mick asks, flicking his head towards Oliver, still kneeling on the floor at their feet. "I'm sure he can get loose, given time." 

Len makes his way behind Oliver, opens a cupboard that Oliver can't see. Mick squats down so he's on Oliver's level, and then barks out a laugh. 

"What?" says Len. 

"He's hard." Mick tells him. "He's fucking getting off on this." 

There's a clatter behind Oliver as Len puts something down and crosses the floor to Mick's side. 

"He is." Len says. "That seems like an invitation." 

Oliver doesn't need to fake the shudder that rips through him. 

"Is that what you want?" Mick asks, standing back up and moving closer so Oliver has to crane his neck to see him. "Want use to use you and then leave you here, spent and messy and gaping open while we rob your city blind? Want us to drape you in the things we steal while we fuck you until you can't walk? Do you want us to chain you to the bed and keep you as a pet? Or maybe you want us to leave you strapped to a fucking machine so you'll come multiple times while we go rob some place, come back and use your come to slick ourselves up when we fuck you?"

Mick's new position means Ollie can sneak some grinds in against his boots during this narration. He's obviously not as subtle as he thinks, because Len grabs the scruff of his neck and tilts his head back. 

"He wants all of those." Len says. 

"No, I don't!" snaps Oliver, because the lie is the best way to stay in character. 

"Yes, you do." says Len. "If you really didn't want it, you wouldn't be humping Mick's boots to get yourself off, would you?"

"Slut." Mick says. It sounds fond. "Sitting there, all bound up, waiting to be used proper." 

"Don't even think-" Oliver starts. The end of that sentence that is the most truthful is 'of stopping'. 

"I think we should shut him up." says Len. 

Mick grins, and shoves the fingers of one hand in Oliver's mouth while he opens his jeans. When the fingers slide back out again, Oliver clenches his jaw. 

"Open up, slut." says Len. Mick pinches Oliver's nose closed until he has to open his mouth, fucks in deep enough to make Oliver gag. It's perfect. Oliver's never been this hard. 

"Come on, slut," says Mick, using Oliver's hair to pull him off and steer him over to Len, "keep sucking." 

Oliver does, letting Mick shove him up and down Len's dick while Len's hips twitch up against his face. They switch back and forth for a while, taking turns fucking Oliver's mouth while Oliver fucks his own hips up against nothing, enjoying it. 

Len disappears for a moment and comes back with a switchblade in one hand and what looks like a vibrator in the other. He kneels behind Oliver and curls his hand around the back of his neck. 

"I'm planning on cutting your clothes off - color?" he whispers. Something warmer than arousal settles in Oliver's stomach. 

"Green." Oliver whispers back, fully aware he's shaking. The knife is cool where the flat of it brushes against his skin, and Oliver bites back a moan as Len peels off the last of the fabric. Mick keeps a grip on his hair and takes a few steps back, enough to make Oliver scramble with cuffed hands to get on all fours and keep his balance. Len's fingers are slick when they press against Oliver's rim and he cants his hips back without thinking, moaning around Mick's cock. 

"He wants it, Lenny." Mick says. "He wants it so bad. Such a filthy slut, so willing to get fucked he doesn't care that it's villains doing it." 

Oliver moans again, muffled, and Len slides two fingers in, which only makes him moan louder. 

"And he takes my fingers so well." says Len, scissoring them where they sit, brushing against the bottom of Oliver's prostate. "I've got a plan, Mick." 

"You always have the best plans." says Mick. Len's fingers leave, and something smooth and thick presses against Oliver - it's the vibrator. Oliver groans, and Mick does too, shoving his cock down Oliver's throat. 

Len turns the vibe on, teasing low, and then spanks Oliver hard. Oliver jolts, and then whines. 

Mick pulls out, and with his hands bound there's nothing Oliver can do to muffle the next pitiful noise he makes. Len's strikes ramp Oliver up more and more, and he's hovering on the edge when a hand grabs the base of his dick just hard enough to make sure he can't come. 

"Tell me you're our whore, and maybe I'll let you come." Mick tells him. Oliver bites his lips, tries to fight the urge for the sake of the game they're playing. 

Len spanks him again, and Oliver gives up and surrenders to the urge. 

"I'm your whore." he gasps, and Mick grins, but doesn't loosen his grip. Len turns off the vibe, and settles himself by Oliver's other shoulder. 

"Lets talk rules, shall we?" says Mick, and when Oliver looks at him, it's clear this is not just for now, but for when they do this again. "You'll call me sir, and Lenny there is Captain. Do you understand?" 

Oliver nods. 

"Tell me." says Mick. 

"Yes, sir." says Oliver, and then he looks over at Len, who's smiling softly. 

"While you're here, you come when we say you come." says Len. 

"Yes, Captain." says Oliver, and he feels like he's floating. 

"We'll talk about the other details later." Mick says. "For now, tell us you're our whore again."

"I'm your whore." says Oliver, fervently. 

Mick moves behind him, pulling off his Henley as he goes. 

"Tell us you'll do whatever we say." says Len. 

"Anything you order, Captain." promises Oliver. 

"Good whore." says Len. "Our good whore." 

Mick pulls the vibe out and slides in. It burns a little - Mick's larger than the toy - but it feels incredible. Oliver arches his back. Mick spanks him as he fucks in and Oliver whines. 

"Take his cock, whore." says Len. "Go on, fuck yourself back on his cock, give in to that filthy drive in your blood. Make him feel good." Len purrs. Oliver does, fucks himself back as much as he can on Mick's cock and whines louder. 

Mick's fingers trace his rim and Len's pull hard at a nipple, earning a shocked yelp. Mick slides one in, slick, and Len rolls the bud in a way that has Oliver shuddering. 

"He stretches so well around my fingers." Mick says. "Even with my cock there too. What do you say, precious, can you take more?" 

"Yes, sir." pants Oliver. 

"Give him another, Mickey." says Len, and Mick does, making Oliver shout. 

"Does that feel good?" asks Len. 

"Yes, Captain." 

"If you want more you're going to have to beg for it." Len says. He's smirking, which means he has a plan and Oliver looks like as much of a wreck as he feels. 

"Please, sir, will you give me another finger?" Oliver begs, and then he thinks back to the last few times they've had him beg and how they've wanted specificity. 

"Will you put another finger in my ass and stretch me open more?" he clarifies. 

"Listen to him." Mick croons, sliding the third finger in as he does. "Listen to the filthy mouth on our good whore." 

"I want to listen to him beg more than that." says Len. "He's got a gift." 

Oliver fucks back on Mick's cock and fingers with a moan, and Mick spanks him again. 

"Greedy slut wants more." Mick says. 

"We should give it to him." says Len. Oliver swallows hard. He knows what's coming - he came as soon as double penetration was mentioned, there is no way that's not what they're planning. Len's hands start removing the spreader bar and Oliver shivers in anticipation. 

"Greedy sluts get what's coming to them." Mick sing-songs. He grabs Oliver's hips and rocks back, resettling them so Mick's comfortably on his back with Oliver impaled on his cock, hands still cuffed. Len moves until he's poised to slide in next to Mick. 

"Beg, whore." says Len, and Oliver realizes that as much as they all find him begging hot, it's a chance for Oliver to tap out, too. 

"Please, Captain, please will you fuck my ass at the same time as Sir does?" Oliver pleads. 

Len slides in, and Oliver moans because the stretch is so new and so good, and he feels full to bursting. 

"Fuck, he just opens right up." 

"That's our good whore. He'll be fucking gaping when we're done with him." 

"Our come will leak all over his thighs." 

Oliver moans again at the mental images, and then Len pulls out and pushes in and Mick thrusts up. 

"Fuck!" Oliver yells. 

"Fuck what?" purrs Len. 

"Fuck me harder, Captain, please, please. Fuck me hard and come in me and then do it all again." 

"Our precious filthy whore." says Mick, and then Oliver loses track for a bit because they are fucking him hard and they keep bumping against his prostate and it's perfect. It's almost too perfect, in fact. 

"Captain -" Oliver moans. "Captain it's too good I'm going to - going to -" 

If anything, Len fucks him harder. Both Len and Mick thrust in at about the same time, and it feels like they've managed to light up Oliver's entire prostate. 

Oliver screams, and his vision whites out as he comes without permission. 

"You shouldn't have done that, whore." says Len. 

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry." Oliver chants. 

"How do you feel like punishing him?" Mick asks. Neither of them have pulled out - they're still fucking Oliver, and it feels fucking amazing, although Oliver knows it won't in a very short time. 

"We could get the vibe back in him, just leave him there and see how many times we could make him come." Len muses. Mick makes a pleased little sound at that. 

"Shall we cuff his ankles back up?" Mick suggests, and Oliver's squirming between them, excited. 

"Mmm, lets put the bar between his knees, spread him wider." Len purrs, and they start to move, in sync as they arrange Oliver on his knees, spreader bar locked back in place. Oliver hears the cupboard from before open and close again, and the vibe Len slides into him his definitely bigger - and Len's put it on a much higher setting. Oliver whines and shakes and keens and lets Mick pet his hair and Len play with the intensity, and sobs because it's so good and he's floating and alive and on the verge of coming but Mick's other hand is tight around the base of his dick to make sure he can't. 

"We should keep him here all the time." Mick says. "Keep the cuffs on and a plug in him so he's always ready for us. We can use him like he wants whenever we feel like it. People will wonder why the Green Arrow isn't on the streets and only we'll know that it's because we've got him locked up here to be our personal filthy whore, and he wants it more than anything." 

Oliver can taste the salt from his tears on his lips, so he knows he's sobbing. He never wants this to end, wants it to drag on and on. He never wants them to leave again. 

"Fuck, Kitten." says Len, and Oliver knows the pet name is a break in character but it's the best thing he's ever heard. "Fuck, you're the best thing we've ever stolen. The best thing we can count as ours." 

Oliver starts chanting please like it's a mantra that will save his life. Mick pulls him closer, lets him rest his head against his scarred shoulder while he shakes. 

"I still want to see our come leaking out of him." says Len. "What do you say, Kitten, you want us to mark you up like that?" 

Oliver's mantra changes to 'yes'.

Len slides the vibe out, and fucks into him hard and fast. Oliver sinks his teeth into Mick's shoulder to help himself hold back from coming at the stimulation, and Mick grunts and holds him there until Oliver rolls the skin between his teeth and starts forming a bruise. 

"Let him up, Mickey," says Len, but his voice sounds strained. "I want to hear him beg for it."

"Please!" Oliver gasps. "Please come in me, Captain!" 

Len moans as he does, and Oliver mimics him, something satisfied settling into his bones. Half-claimed, whispers his brain. Len pulls out and Mick lets go, and Oliver collapses onto his back and uses his cuffed hands to grab at the bar and haul his shaking, weak legs up. 

"Please, sir." he whimpers. He doesn't care how he sounds, anymore, or if he's 'in character' for their game. He just wants them to claim him. Something in his brain tells him he's in deep, and he's loving every second of it. 

"Fuck." says Mick, eyes almost entirely black with lust, and he's fucking Oliver almost instantly, his hand on the bar between Oliver's to keep him where Mick wants him. Len's taken up Mick's role stroking Oliver's hair, and Oliver lets all the whines and screams he feels pour out of his mouth. 

"Good boy," says Len, "you're doing so well for us, baby." 

There's nothing of the game left, just Oliver being taken apart and put back together and cared for, and how did he think he could ever be this at peace with anyone else but these two. 

"Ollie-" breathes Len, and Oliver realizes he must have said that out loud. 

Mick yells something wordless as he comes, and then loosens his fingers and drags his hand up Oliver's dick. 

"Come for us, baby boy." says Len, and Oliver does and it's so good, it's perfect, and Oliver thinks he's screaming and it goes on and on and - 

The next thing Oliver knows, he's completely unbound, his head pillowed on Len's chest. He's clean, and wearing soft sweats, and the two of them are wrapped up in warm blankets. He can feel Mick's heat at his back. 

"Hey, Ollie." says Len. "You back with us?" 

"Fuck that was good." Oliver mumbles. Mick laughs behind him, and Len kisses the top of his head. 

"Did you mean it?" Len asks, after a moment of contented silence. "Do you want to stay with us?" 

"Yes." says Oliver, instantly. He's had almost 10 years to think about it, and he's never been more sure. He can feel Len huff out a sigh, presumably of relief. 

"We're not going to let you go until you tell us you want us gone, Ollie." says Len. 

"You're perfect for us." Mick says, and Oliver feels warmth building up in his chest. 

"I want to wear your marks." says Oliver, all in a rush, and then he makes himself slow down. He turns into his stomach so he can see both of their faces. 

"I've known this is where I was supposed to be for a very long time. I tried to fool myself into thinking I could make do with something else and I was so wrong - but I want to know I'm yours, I want a marker."

They look - honestly they look thrilled. 

"A collar is out of the question." says Mick. "It will get you hurt in the field if you forget to take it off when you have to change in a hurry."

"What about cuffs?" suggests Len. "It would be easy enough to design some that wouldn't interfere with your arm-guards, and we could even design them to serve that kind of purpose in a pinch." 

Oliver smiles, conjuring up visions of soft leather cuffs with a flame and a snowflake branded into them, hidden under his shirt cuffs at city hall and under his bracers in the suit. 

"Sleep some more, Kitten." says Len. "We'll still be here when you wake up. We might even have a design ready." 

Oliver falls asleep with Mick singing something sweetly soft in a warm baritone, in a language that Oliver recognizes as Maori. 

It sounds like home.


End file.
